


Deception Circles

by oudeteron



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Age Difference, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:04:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oudeteron/pseuds/oudeteron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three, no longer just two, different takes on Kaz's possible side-alliances during <i>Peace Walker</i>. I thought I wouldn't revisit Kaz/Zero but it seems I lied.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Under Wraps

**Author's Note:**

> These are more independent one-shots than chapters of the same story, but grouped together because of the theme.
> 
> Summary & notes on Chapter 1: Kaz's small act of kindness when he brings MSF's notorious prisoner a cup of coffee gets derailed. Originally posted to mgs_kink on LJ in response to the prompt "Kaz/Zadornov explaining the repeated escapes, fireplay using the robot hand". (Warnings: Zadornov being manipulative, coerced consent/blackmail.) Background Big Boss/Kaz.

What Snake didn't know wouldn't hurt him. That was, at least, what Kaz told himself every time he went down to the MSF brig to...negotiate with the most important of its inhabitants. At this point, he could recognize the exact moment he entered the prisoner's field of vision: there'd be a faint but attentive rustling of fabric as Zadornov sat up in his cell, eyeing him expectantly. Most of the time, this was motivated by the coffee Kaz would bring without Big Boss's knowledge (another little allowance for a co-agent, albeit a very irritating one) or the prospect of escape, and Kaz only hoped this wasn't going to be one of those _other_ times.

"Hey," he said, trying to sound noncommittal; nothing interesting to do here, no sir. "Here's some of that coffee. Better drink it before I need to go back up."

Lazily, the figure in the cell approached the bars to take the cup from him. "Beats the water and rations," came the subdued but raspy voice. Zadornov didn't seem to be suffering in prison—hey, the MSF took better care of their captives than most, Snake and Kaz both had reasons to make sure of that—but he did look kind of depleted. Bored too, probably. After all, he was only on his third escape.

Kaz would have felt a semblance of sympathy for him if the man hadn't been a shameless manipulator.

 _"Hey, get back in there! You weren't supposed to escape_ yet _, what the hell are you thinking?"_

 _"I am not used to confinement, Miller. If you'd like me to stay, give me some entertainment."_

 _"Sorry, you're gonna want to raise that complaint with Cipher if you don't like your part in the plan. I'm only supposed to let you out now and then without being spotted."_

 _"Oh, I like my part just fine. But you don't seem to realize that I could...talk. To your dear boss, that is."_

 _"Why would you—? Zadornov, that makes no sense!"_

 _"Perhaps not to you or your long-distance friend. All I'm saying is that I want compensation for having to sit in this cell day and night."_

 _"What are you..."_

 _"It's either you, or good luck getting someone else in on this." And expanding the circle of deception beyond what you can handle. "What's the matter? Would you like your boss to get a few helpful hints once he begins to act suspicious?"_

What followed then had been nowhere near the top of Kaz's wishlist as far as sexual encounters went. All the same, he could have said no. He could've risked it and slammed the door in Zadornov's smug face instead of letting himself into the cell, glancing around in a fashion that could only be described as paranoid, and getting naked for his fucking cooperative-posing-prisoner in his fucking brig in his own fucking base. And if only it had stopped at that. Much as Kaz tried to tell himself it was just to make sure Zadornov wouldn't talk, he couldn't help the nagging feeling that he might have actually enjoyed the humiliation.

"Could you hurry it up?" he snapped, irritable now. "I have maybe another half hour before I need to be on the chopper, and I'm sure you're not going to do that for me."

Zadornov shot him a veiled look from behind the bars, setting the coffee cup aside. "Well, plenty of time to have some fun." The inflection on that last word was unmistakable.

Kaz's heart sank, but his shock promptly transferred into anger. "You really think now's the time?" _And that I want another round of—_

"Cipher instructions are that we should get along, if I may remind you," Zadornov quipped without much effort, fixing Kaz with a glare. "That includes keeping up each other's morale, especially with one of us stranded in such gross conditions."

Kaz growled deep in his throat. "Gross, that's right. You sure don't have half the class of that guy, gotta hand it to him. Are you _quite certain_ ," he put special emphasis on those two incongruously formal words, "that he meant this?"

Unfortunately, Zadornov caught right on. "I'm certain he meant whatever was pertinent to the situation. Besides, he doesn't suppose I might tell Big Boss more than necessary if I want to end this. I do not only answer to him, as you may know." He paused, scanning Kaz's body up and down, which made the younger man both tense and inwardly furious. "I just wouldn't ask for that beating, if I were you."

But Kaz had already slammed the key into the corresponding lock, eyes averted. _Crush it before it has the chance to spread._

These were going to be some long minutes.

*

"Agh—careful with that—"

Zadornov had wasted no time unbuttoning Kaz's uniform with rough hands, the robotic one included, and running them over the naked skin. At the start, Kaz had been biting his lower lip almost to the point of making it bleed, but he endured all the invasive touches right up to Zadornov's attempt at his sunglasses. No way, the thought was clear and visceral as he forced the other's hand away, and mercifully Zadornov took the cue. It was one scrap of dignity Kaz would salvage here.

Because now he was seated in Zadornov's lap, the older man still mostly dressed whereas Kaz's entire upper body was naked and his pants pulled down, with that nerveless hand pressing against his chin to prevent him from turning his head from the scene. Evidently, Zadornov wanted the attention even more than he wanted a piece of ass. Not that the bastard had to choose, really, as he was getting both. His living hand rested in the small of Kaz's back, acting as more of a reminder than anything that would provide support.

The shudder that just racked Kaz's form was equal parts sensation and disgust—granted, Zadornov wasn't completely ugly or hell-bent on making him suffer, but he was still damn intolerable for using Kaz like this. The fact that Kaz was notorious for sleeping around played no part; when he slept around, it wasn't on an ultimatum. It wasn't designed to exploit him. Most of all, it wasn't in a dingy prison cell with some bastard who just so happened to be someone Kaz couldn't afford to piss off (too much). Classic example of his luck, this.

Worse, the mechanical hand was sliding down his chest, and was it supposed to be so hot? Literally, that is; no way he was going to get off on this. The next second, the prosthetic was inches from his face and— _crack_ —the index finger had popped open and there was a lighter-grade flame fanning out. _Goddammit—_

The moment Zadornov moved that hand, Kaz caught himself gasping, and he actually cried out when the flame barely licked his nipple, only to be soon withdrawn again. The same procedure on the other side of his chest, and after that the hand flicked along his upper arm and back. The latter made Kaz yelp both in a strange sort of pleasure and the fear of lacking any means of control that would allow him to prevent a burn when he couldn't even see it. Fine, so he did sort of enjoy pain when it came to playing rough with Snake, but this was just...

Actually, it was the only thing that contributed to his rising state of arousal. Realizing that once he'd finally chanced a glimpse down, visual confirmation added to feeling it, Kaz had the sudden urge to crawl under a rock and not come out until the next century - not to mention the mere idea that Zadornov might have gauged his response ahead of time was enough to send him seething with quiet rage. He wasn't even uncomfortable anymore, never fucking mind what Zadornov was doing to him down there; rather all his senses were focused on the fleeting touches of dangerous heat. When the flame stayed a little too long on his hip, he felt the teasing heat turn into pain and threw his head back, for the first time unironically moaning.

Best of all, that sensation was disembodied. He could close his eyes and just as easily imagine Snake's hand wielding his malfunction-prone zippo.

It was a good thing in the end for all involved that Zadornov had had a head start on the excitement, because otherwise Kaz would've finished a long while before him thanks to the fiery stimulation. As things stood now, they were more or less synchronized, though he wasn't going to thank Zadornov for turning the flame off at the last minute and wrapping the still-heated hand around Kaz's cock to push him off the edge. In that moment, pain and bliss were exquisitely the same.

Stillness. Then, as soon as he could manage, Kaz shakily got up, looking pointedly to the side again. To his credit, Zadornov upheld his part of the bargain and let him go.

"Mind if I use your water," Kaz grunted, not waiting for an answer before he turned the makeshift faucet in the corner on, splashing it where he felt dirtiest. Repeatedly. He used the fresh towel he'd brought along with the coffee to wipe himself dry, too. Served Zadornov right to have to use it now.

Once he'd put his discarded clothes on again and smoothed his hair back, he could almost pretend none of this had ever happened. Whatever triumph that was, however, it proved ridiculously short-lived when heavy footsteps echoed down the stairs and towards the section of the brig that housed Zadornov's cell.

In a perfect contrast to the heat earlier, Kaz felt his blood run cold at the voice. "Kaz? Hurry it up over there, we're off!"

 _Snake._

And while Kaz scrambled out of the cell, too panicked right now to think about the wider consequences, Zadornov kept to simply observing him from where he was still slumped on the floor, looking even more smug than Kaz remembered. "Enjoy your mission," he remarked, while Kaz kicked the door shut and made sure to lock.

The problem with problems was that they couldn't stay in.


	2. No Friend Like Your Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much as Kaz insists on his involvement with Cipher being strictly a business affair, he develops a fascination with the man at the heart of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired in part by [this awesome picture](http://pudding-.tumblr.com/post/6721772333/i-blame-oude-for-this-somehow-and-then-he-went). Background pairings: Big Boss/Zero and BB/Kaz.

The interesting thing about Zero is, he doesn't care about the passage of time. Kaz has only been staying at his place, for lack of a better word when it comes to describing pseudo-military hideouts, for several days that can be covered up afterwards, but the odd tranquility here is something he could easily get used to. He first agreed to come along thinking he could use the opportunity to play double agent, not just against Snake this time but the other way too, but his urge to create some sort of disturbance has only grown since his arrival. So the morning that sees him waltzing into the austere but elegant kitchen, his aviators lying abandoned in the guest bedroom, should really have expected as much. Yes, he's just personified it.

He can't say anything for himself except that he is creeping up on the older man, who seems absorbed in making breakfast. Speaking of which, yes, age feels like it should be a concern, but the truth is that his host doesn't look a day older than in the photo Kaz found while Zero wasn't looking—in monochrome, he stands smiling next to a familiar younger soldier with dark hair and both eyes still in place. That young man, Kaz imagines, could have been called Jack without it sounding like a pathetic attempt at consolation. That's why he sticks to Snake or Boss. It's rare enough to see his commander smile; no reason to rub it in with nicknames and cheap nostalgia.

Meanwhile, on Zero's face, the very idea of something as light as a smile seems preposterous. That's the only change in his appearance between now and that photo—as far as Kaz can tell, anyway. (There's plenty more to dig up yet.) No wonder age doesn't mean much to someone who might as well be frozen in time.

“Morning,” Kaz ventures once he's come close enough. Gotta start out polite.

Along with time, Zero does pretty well at ignoring surprises. But a slight twitch of his hand as he puts down the teapot gives him away, a nod to suppressed reflex before he turns around. “Ah, Mister Miller. Would you sit down? The tea needs about five minutes.”

Kaz did mean to be polite, but there's no need to get outright formal.

That won't do, that won't do at all. Glancing at the tea set on the counter, Kaz falls into his charming routine before he even considers any alternatives. He's curious. Has been for a while. Not so much about what's going to happen—more to find out whether Zero will take any favours from him, or if his intent right now can be considered one. Wonder if he believes in indirect contact.

Whatever the case, Kaz doesn't waver once he's decided; he insinuates, one hand ghosting over the hem of the other's pants, his own gaze both firm and flirtatious. “I know a few things we could do in five minutes...”

 _We?_ An interesting notion all right, given their interaction has revolved around someone who has never even been in the same room with them at once, but manages to be the central figure for them both all the same. Sometimes, Kaz thinks of it as an equation: Big Boss is to Kaz and to Zero like a flame is to a pair of moths. Which just sounds melodramatic, so he shakes his head and tries to be subtle about wiggling his eyebrows, considering that he's even taken his shades off for this guy. He's not sure why he's doing it, and when Zero responds to his advances by flashing him a glare and perhaps looking the slightest bit flustered, he's not sure that the other man knows either.

“I doubt that would take five minutes,” comes Zero's matter-of-fact answer. It's a strategy Kaz will make sure to copy. If you say something effortlessly, no sugarcoating it, no stuttering, then whatever might have made the admission awkward vanishes into thin air. Kaz can think of a few situations when a skill like that might come in handy already.

“Well, I'm not in a hurry.” And damn, he's just gonna hope that strategy works better when Kaz himself employs it, considering that he's shrugged it off for Zero without a second thought. He starts pawing at the other's crotch through stiff fabric—that suit has been cleaned professionally, no doubt—watching if Zero's reaction even merits what Kaz is so gracious, really, to initiate here. The good news is that he's not being told off yet. As for anything else that might put a damper on his efforts, well, he's not experienced in dealing with men twice his age and then some, but at least Zero is leaning into the touch. Closing his eyes, too. Downright bizarre, him of all people agreeing to enjoy this. Enjoy himself.

Who the hell are they to have sympathy for each other? Something for Kaz to ponder as he keeps at what he's been doing until, finally, there's the sign of a telltale hardness under his fingers that incites him to do more, so he undoes everything he can and fiddles with the fabric just enough to slide his hand past it, inside, to the flesh, and now he's heard Zero take in a sharp breath.

It kind of makes him wonder which of them feels stranger in this arrangement. They should at least call it something, right? Soon it becomes clear he's not the only one worrying about that, because Zero goes ahead to set the problem to words, “What is there for you in this—transaction?”

 _What indeed._ After all, Kaz does not particularly like the image of himself in bed, not quite literally but close enough, with his Boss's friend-turned-foe—but still he sinks to his knees on the tiled floor, hands dragging the interfering layers of fabric down, that's right, in his own general direction. Looking up, “I'm not as self-interested as you think,” _but almost,_ “so here's a present.” _Enjoy that_ remains unspoken. And then he just does it, the same way he's done to Snake before, pressing his lips against the head, parting, taking it in.

It definitely helps that he's had practice, even if not as much as one might expect. Then again, Zero's not trying to make this more difficult than it needs to be by doing something underhanded like pulling on his hair or insulting him or thrusting into his mouth. Quite the contrary, he's leaning back against the kitchen counter, the only indication of Kaz's attention doing its job being small controlled gasps. Well, and the arousal Kaz is working on, but that goes without saying at this point.

Five minutes? Yeah, as a multiplier.

At least Zero didn't mystify him about that. It's not so bad, even; Kaz just closes his eyes and turns the wet work he's doing into a meticulous task, using his tongue like a high-precision tool. Not sure why he's being so dedicated, except for the impression that Zero wouldn't want it any other way. Throughout the time Kaz has known him (if knowing can be used for whatever their collaboration is) Zero has come across as someone who pays attention to detail, even when there's no obvious reason why he should.

That might just be the scary thing.

Either way, there is one detail that doesn't seem to faze him much right now, which goes to show as soon as Kaz has finally brought him over the edge—hey, who knew Zero's hands could get shaky?—and the cry that escapes the older man is everything but attuned to the moment. In fact, the name he mutters as his body goes lax sounds suspiciously like _Snake_.

Although Kaz should be annoyed by that, it's another one of those things he'll overlook today. Blame that misplaced sympathy.

Blame being together in square one.


	3. Honest Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a fine line between sincerity and scheming, and sometimes it doesn't matter at all. Inspired by Pud's fantastic [canvas](http://pudding-.tumblr.com/post/11527727912/zero-kaz-again-troll-suggested-a-scene-with-them), just mostly skipping ahead to what could be happening after the scene in the pic.

They fuck, Kaz suspects, because Zero is lonely.

It's the easiest explanation, and one that bothers him the least. They are hardly a pair of honest men but, in the lamp-light of the upscale hotel suite where Zero had offered to stage their most recent bout of plotting—they can't do everything on the telephone—earnestness is something that can be invented to suit the moment. In a way, they lie to each other less than they lie to themselves. Than they lie the world in the face.

Than they lie to Jack and about Jack.

He might as well be here with them, only Kaz doesn't acknowledge the sentiment and knows that neither will Zero. This is for respite first and foremost, after all. They talked business earlier, both wearing suits and facades still more impeccable, while dinner progressed in the private compartment they occupied at the time. Having made their way up to the bedroom later, it seemed as good an option as any to let off some steam.

Kaz arches his hips in a leisurely way, responding to Zero's insistence. He's going to finish first anyhow, no matter what he does. His body is young, rough and supple, and there is no rush. His needs are less.

And confirming his prediction, it's only by the time Kaz shivers an orgasm that Zero starts to enjoy himself properly. It's not purposeful. They agreed right at the start not to bother trying to synchronize with one another, the gap between them too wide to make it worth all the self-denial Kaz would have to do in that case. There is less trouble in leaving each of them to run his course, making no fuss. Kaz stays stretched out on his back; his head is tilted to the side, eyes hooded, his thoughts wavering between the activity underway and the MSF with its boss.

He's sure it is the same way for Zero. That's what makes what they're doing fair.

Kaz even believes that, used though he may be for Zero's benefit, he is not totally expendable. He's a businessman, and he knows the value of money. Zero has spent an awful lot on meeting him here tonight, considering they could have stuck to Cipher HQ as they had before: none of this all-inclusive comfort, no pretence at anything out of the ordinary. It sets him wondering if Zero perhaps knows Kaz's secret penchant for stability, knows how it vexes him that the MSF remains an enterprise of chance. Pondering this makes Kaz feel a little lost, a drifting sensation not helped by the haze he's in after his climax. This is among the reasons he gives himself up to however long is necessary for Zero to follow after him, as well as why he doesn't mind. A moan escapes Kaz's throat every now and then, not for pleasure at this point but because of the way Zero's body strains his.

Interestingly, Zero is almost gentle with him despite the machine-like— _The System in person,_ it occurs to Kaz as an afterthought to a conversation they had earlier, and now he knows that Zero means it—regularity of his motions. Not that Kaz would ever ask for gentleness; he's still meeting each thrust and doesn't need to be coddled. He looks up as he starts paying attention again, peering into Zero's face above him. He finds an expression of pure concentration there that sends some renascent heat to his cock, though he doesn't get hard again.

When they are done, they don't have much use for soppy gestures. Kaz had undressed completely when they made it to bed, so he just wipes his front with the one-use towel the hotel staff had so thoughtfully placed on the covers before he settles on his side. From the corner of his eye, he watches Zero take off the condom and readjust the shirt he never took off in the first place. As Kaz makes the deliberate decision to sleep he thinks of the myriad ways this man could stab him in the back before the night is out, but all Zero does is drape the blanket over him.

\---

It's still dark when he regains consciousness, only the barest hint of dawn permeating the air. There is a lukewarm cup of something on the nightstand; when he sits up to taste it, Kaz is pleasantly surprised to discover that it's coffee. Glancing around the room, he notices the sliver of light under the bathroom door and determines that he should be awake.

Soon enough, Zero joins him, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Thanks for that,” Kaz says, inclining his head towards the cup he's still holding.

“You're as bad as Jack with your muddy water,” comes the reply, “but you are welcome.”

Kaz chuckles, not about to argue the superiority of coffee versus tea at this hour. Beverage wars notwithstanding, part of him can't help but appreciate Zero's unbelievable ability to sound casual in the least casual of situations. For a moment it feels as if they were just an unlikely couple, their difference in age the most dubiously remarkable quality about them.

That illusion is shattered when Zero speaks up once more, swapping his casual manner for blunt. “Is it hard to come back to him?”

It gives Kaz pause, and even then he's speechless. He fidgets with the cup, examines the bedsheets.

“That wasn't a business question, in case you're on your guard.” Zero's voice is weary now. “As a former spy who was a little like you, I know deception takes its toll. If you can't cope, you may end up pulling the rug from under everyone.”

“So you're worried about me? Or is that about yourself?”

“I might be about both of us.” The remark sounds like half of a larger whole impossible to unearth. “And Jack, too.”


End file.
